Pretenses Read Online Free PDF

Pockets downstairs in the lounge in about an hour. He had a thing for blondes, so she would become one for him. Seduction was always a good weapon when used by a skilled practitioner. Coco had used her charms on men and women alike; both were extremely susceptible if the seduction was alluring enough, and Coco Nimburu was.
    Dressed in her disguise, she entered the lounge. The dim lighting would hide what she looked like when the FBI asked for a description, and Coco didn’t want that. She wanted to be seen. Clayton Pockets smelled her intoxicating perfume before he actually saw her. She reminded him of the character that Drea De Matteo had brought to life on HBO’s
The Sopranos
. Wearing a skintight white tennis outfit, sneakers, hoop earrings, and a bright smile, she said loudly with a New York accent, “You must be Director Pockets. Here,” she handed him the blackmail money he was owed, “this is for you.” She cracked the gum she was chewing a few times before turning to walk away.
    â€œHey, what’s the rush?” Pockets asked. “Can’t you stay for a drink?”
    As she turned back, Coco noticed that everyone was staring at her, which was exactly what she wanted. That way they could tell the FBI what she looked like.
    â€œI’ve got a better idea. How ’bout we take that briefcase and get outta here. I know a great spot for a little fun about fifteen minutes from here, in Alexandria.”
    â€œGreat!” He smiled broadly. “Just let me tell the office I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off.”
    â€œI’ll wait for you in the parking lot,” Coco said and left.
    A couple of minutes later, Clayton Pockets came into the parking lot, carrying the briefcase Coco had given him. She was sitting on a black, yellow-trimmed ninja motorcycle. She wasn’t wearing a helmet. He walked over to her and said, “So what’s your name, sweet thing?”
    â€œMy name?” she repeated, and cracked her gum a few times. “My name is Coco, and I know how to make a man have repeated orgasms without losing his erection.”
    Intrigued, Pockets asked, “How?”
    â€œEver try acupuncture?” She smiled, then remained silent to allow the suggestion to flood his mind. She kick-started the bike and revved the engine a few times. “Try to keep up with me. If you get lost, it’s your loss.” Then she peeled off. The smell of rubber burning filled Pockets’ nose. He ran to his car and pursued her.

CHAPTER 11
    P OLICE HEADQUARTERS was always busy. Today wasn’t any different. There was no end to crime in the nation’s capital. Many of the poorer neighborhoods were littered with drugs and, consequently, violence. It was dog-eat-dog not far from where the President slept. The moment I walked in, prisoners began their ritualistic catcalls. I had grown tired of the constant offers of sex from incarcerated men. Most of them were quite bold, too. On one occasion, a prisoner exposed himself so I could see what he had to offer.
    â€œHey, baby,” one of the shabbier ones said to me. “You look just like Jada Pinkett. You think you can handle this?” I ignored him and kept walking. Then he yelled out, “Ah, come on, girl! Don’t be like that. All I want is a taste. You can have it right back. I promise.” He laughed uproariously.
    I walked into Kelly’s office with a frown on my face. She was sitting at her desk, looking at the Taylors’ telephone records. I opened her portable refrigerator and took out a big, juicy-looking peach.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” Kelly said.
    â€œDon’t mind if I do.” I laughed.
    â€œSaw the press conference this afternoon. The President has all kinds of confidence, doesn’t he?
    â€œYeah, but it’s misplaced.”
    â€œYou thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
    â€œYeah. What if it was a pro?”
    â€œExactly. And if it